


I've been afraid, but never a coward

by sillu



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: /slaps roof of fic This fic can fit so many tropes in it!, Angst with a Happy Ending, Caring for an Injury, F/M, Issues With Intimacy, Maka POV, Non-Explicit Sex, Sharing a Bed, Snowed In, Sort of a Maka character study?, Spirit has been ~promiscuous~ in his past and Maka has some issues stemming from that, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:21:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29453736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sillu/pseuds/sillu
Summary: "She finds him in the night when the guilt in her soul is easier to stomach, and he asks for her permission at every step, all searing glances and shaking hands on the zipper of her skirt."Makawants, but she's afraid of what itmeans. She's her father's daughter, after all.
Relationships: Maka Albarn/Soul Eater Evans
Comments: 11
Kudos: 63





	I've been afraid, but never a coward

**Author's Note:**

> Projecting onto characters???? in My fanfic???? it's more likely than you think!!
> 
> it was snowing today and i felt things, so i wrote this. i hope you all enjoy <3

Maka’s eyes flutter open, and although her mind is foggy, the gears of her half-awake brain begin to spin. Her body kickstarts into survival mode, and she jumps her way through the five Ws, something she has done so many times that it’s instinctual: 

What? She’s asleep, but not for long.

Where? She’s in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar place, confused but so _warm_. Oh. The safe house, in the mountains. Her ankle gives another little twinge, but she ignores it, for now.

When? Since yesterday afternoon. It’s morning now, judging by the soft blue light that carries through the sheer curtains at her back.

Who? The gears in her brain seem to stutter, eager to balk at this question, but with another soft blink, the night before comes flooding back, without her permission:

Searing hands ghosting down her sides. Fingers tangling in his hair, her lips on his neck.

Carefully, so carefully, she maneuvers herself around in his arms, sliding up so that they’re face to face. Soul barely stirs, hand unconsciously flexing against her bare hip in a way that tugs away at her focus. She reaches up to softly brush the hair from his eyes, and he seems to lean up into the touch.

Her heart _aches_ , and this brings her to a chorus of Whys:

Why can’t she keep a handle on this? Why does she keep _taking_ from him? 

And why does he keep letting her?

* * *

Distracted. She is _distracted_ these days.

The first time it happened was just after Thanksgiving dinner. Everyone else had left, and they were both wine-drunk and giggly, sprawled across the couch.

“You’re such a lush,” Soul had muttered. She remembered the tone of his voice, so casually tender. His eyelashes, longer than they had any right to be, had fluttered shut. And because she already has zero impulse control with _no_ alcohol in her system, as soon as she’d thought to lean up and kiss him, she couldn’t stop herself.

Before she made it all the way there, his finger had appeared, pressing playfully against her lips. Faces an inch apart, he’d asked - still lazy, still affectionate: “What’re you doin’?”

What _was_ she doing? But he didn’t sound upset; if anything, the smile on his face had grown even _wider_ as his eyes fluttered shut again.

He hadn’t given her a chance to get flustered, no chance to second-guess. “I’ll totally kiss you, Maka,” he said, sleep crawling back into his voice again. “But not when we’re drunk.”

And then, like an absolute _twerp_ , he’d promptly fallen asleep.

She’d stared down at him, cheeks fiery, wondering if he’d even remember this conversation in the morning. How could he have said it so nonchalantly, so offhandedly? Like it was nothing?

Two days later, when they’re on the couch and aren’t drunk and she clambers into his lap to slant their lips together, it doesn’t _feel_ like nothing to her.

He had tried to talk to her about it, that first night. But Soul’s always been better with actions than words, and Maka, though she will never say so… is afraid.

“I’d like… to do that again, sometime,” was all she’d said afterwards, looking down at him as she leaned against the couch cushions.

“‘Kay,” he’d said, head against the armrest, his gaze sweeping between her eyes, looking for something deeper beneath her words.

He won't demand answers from her. He’s waiting for _her_ to be ready to talk.

What if she’s never ready?

 _Selfish_. Since she’d gotten that first taste, it’s like she can’t _stop_. She’s her father’s daughter, after all - a thought she pushes violently to the side when Soul’s lips are pressed soft against her temple.

And the progression from kissing to _more..._ it happens quickly, seamlessly. A natural progression in their storyline. She finds him in the night when the guilt in her soul is easier to stomach, and he asks for her permission at every step, all searing glances and shaking hands on the zipper of her skirt.

She thinks he _would_ have demanded answers by now, if not for their link. Talking is hard, and the two of them are made for action - they know each other’s bodies so well when it comes to fighting that it all just... translates, somehow. Despite all of the speaking they aren’t doing, they still _listen_ to each other, as strange as that sounds.

Except for right now, when Soul isn’t listening at _all._

Maka clicks her skis together out of instinct, wincing as another twinge of pain shoots through her ankle.

“Stop _aggravating_ it,” Soul gripes, moving down to unbuckle her foot out of the boot. Sprinkles of snow fall off his black hat and onto her skis, essentially negating all of her previous clicking. “Why would you--”

“It was a _reflex_ ,” she grumbles right back, crossing her arms as she glares down at him.

“Well, stop _reflexing_ , then.” Biting as his words may be, his touch is gentle as he unclips the boots, hand steady on her calf as he slides her right foot out of its prison.

“I don’t need your h--” She stops when he sends her an absolutely scathing glare, and then doubles down. _“I’m serious!_ ”

“Trust me,” he says, venting his frustrations via angry wrist-flicks on the clips on her other boot. “I know.”

Ten _years_ of being partners, and he knows nearly everything about her, at this point. For the past two months, she’s tried her very best not to think about that.

Begrudgingly, she lets him help her up, swinging an arm over his shoulder as they step from the mudroom into the actual house. If he’s feeling smug about her accepting his help, he hides it, face carefully neutral as he leads her to the sectional in the middle of the room. 

The house is small but cozy, the finest the Academy has to offer when two of their employees are stuck halfway up a mountain in a snowstorm.

Take a couple of days off, Kid had said. You deserve a break, he’d said.

Neither of them _like_ skiing all that much, but they’d been in Colorado on a mission, and after three days of stakeouts, tailing and one successful fight, Maka could tell that Soul had been exhausted. They _did_ deserve a break, she’d thought.

Obviously, there had been no ulterior motives behind this decision whatsoever. She had spent absolutely no time imagining the two of them, wrapped up in a blanket beside a fireplace, no time imagining the heat in his eyes as she slides a mug of cocoa out of his hands--

“There’s uh…” Soul says, yanking her out of that particular daydream as he glances around the room. “It looks like it’s just the couch.”

An awkward silence stretches its way through the house and Maka sinks down onto the sectional, avoiding Soul’s eyes. There’s no reason for her heart to be skipping beats. They’ve slept in the same bed before, _many_ times--

But not since they'd started _thi_ s. They’ve done plenty of things _in_ a bed - she stomps out that flame before it can catch - but sleeping has not been one of them.

The way Soul scurries into the kitchenette to boil water for tea means that he is probably feeling similarly.

They have the recipe for a quiet afternoon in front of them - Maka sits on the couch, a book in her lap and her foot propped up on the arm of the couch, wrapped in ice. Soul, on the other hand, is antsy, fingers tapping, pacing the room, effectively ruining any chance Maka has at actually focusing.

“Okay, why don’t you go like, shovel snow or something?” Maka finally blurts, letting the book fall into her lap. “You’re driving me crazy.”

Soul stops mid-pace, glancing up at her and then out the window. “I am not going out there, it’s basically a blizzard--”

“Ugh!” Maka says, throwing the book down onto the table. She needs to get away from this energy. “I’m going to take a shower.” She hoists herself up off the couch and, because of who he _is_ , Soul materializes at her side.

“I do not need your help to take a shower,” Maka grits out, because having him this close is not going to help _anything_. She hobbles around on one leg as she circles the couch. “It’s just a sprain--”

“Have you been in the bathroom?” he asks. “The only thing in there is like… a four-foot tall claw-footed tub.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’ll be fine.”

“You can’t get in there with one functioning ankle,” he warns. “I’m telling you.”

“And I’m telling _you_ \--”

“Maka, I am not letting you die in a bathtub because of _pride._ ” He wrings his hands, exasperation leaking through his words. “It’s not like I haven’t seen you--”

He stops dead, realizing his mistake. It’s not like I haven’t seen you _naked_ , is what he’d been about to say.

They don’t talk about it in the daytime. They don’t talk about it _ever_. 

But now that they have, the air is electric.

After a heavy silence, Maka reaches towards him, an emotion that even _she_ can’t identify simmering behind her eyes. “Fine. Help me in.”

Okay. She definitely could not have gotten into this tub by herself. And Soul’s being very _gentlemanly_ , eyes averted as he holds out his forearm to help her in, her ankle balanced precariously on the far side of the bath. She does not look at the redness in his cheeks, doesn’t think about the press of his fingers into her back as he steadies her.

“Thanks,” she grumbles, sinking into the water.

“Yep,” he says once she’s settled, turning on his heel. “Just yell if you need anything else.”

Although it’s only four o’clock, the sun is starting to set, and the snow outside is warping the light, making it harder to gauge when nighttime begins.

She swirls the water around in the tub, letting her thoughts wander. Even away from Soul’s manic energy, her anxiety is still running high. Things feel… tenuous, all of a sudden.

This nervous energy between them is going to manifest into something _else_ , she can feel it. This thread between them that she’s drawn taut feels like it’s about to snap.

In her soul, a whisper: maybe it’s time to let it snap.

She decides that she wants to go back outside.

* * *

Soul is not thrilled with this turn of events, but he doesn’t refuse her. He glances at her wrapped-up ankle, mouth settling into a thin line, but opens the door regardless. They edge outside, Soul still supporting her as she hobbles on one leg.

The snow is falling thick and fast, settling onto their coats, camouflaging itself into Soul’s hair. 

“It’s beautiful,” she says as she reaches up with a mitten, catching the flakes in her hands.

Soul says nothing, watching the sky. His previous restlessness has now settled into a more pensive mood, one that she can rarely read.

“Wanna sit?” he finally says, and she obliges him, letting him help her get to the ground.

Snowflakes dust their faces as they watch the sky. After a moment, Maka spreads her arms and legs wide and waves them in the snow, ignoring Soul’s squawk of protest. She moves more slowly with her injured ankle just to appease him.

When she turns to the side, Soul is watching her, something unreadable back in his gaze. A snow angel and a snow demon, she imagines someone might say, if they saw them from afar. 

But _he’s_ not the one who’s been breaking the rules. He’s not the one who has been taking - always taking, never _explaining_.

She’s scared to talk. But maybe she can _show_ him.

“Hey, Soul?”

“Yeah?”

Slowly, watching his face, she grabs his collar and pulls him towards her, capturing his lips in a kiss. He makes a surprised sound at the contact, but his gloves slide up to frame her face. She jerks a little at the sudden cold, as they realize together that his gloves are covered in snow. Without her permission, a laugh slips from her lips, carrying on the chilly air.

It’s the first time she’s _laughed_ when they’ve done this, and both of them go still. The warmth in Soul’s gaze when they break apart leaves her breathless.

“Back inside?” he asks her. 

There is more than one question there, and she finds herself wanting to answer them all.

“Yeah,” she says, her face settling into a soft smile.

The makeshift bed creaks precariously as her back hits the back of the couch. There’s an urgency now that wasn’t there in the snow, and she holds onto the sheets for dear life, grasping on to the moment like she’s afraid it will escape. 

Slowly, deliberately, Soul boxes her in, arms stretching past her shoulders. Her hands shoot to his sides for an anchor, the tips of her nails dragging against his hips.

His fingers burn, and each brush against her chest as he works through the buttons on her nightshirt causes goosebumps to ripple down her arms. Her shirt soon follows the same path, tracing along her shoulders and getting lost in the cushions.

He leans her back, fingers tracing the sides of her neck. She’s vulnerable, she’s on fire. 

It’s the first time she’s ever let him take the lead.

 _Selfish_ , her heart starts to scream at her again. Selfish, and needy, and still taking _advantage_ \--

And yet, this time, despite all of the noise in her mind, there’s something in Soul’s touch that eases her pain like a salve. He can _hear_ her now. He gives her what her soul so desperately seeks: permission to shatter, permission to break. _I’ve got you._

Being at his mercy is as intoxicating as it is terrifying, but he keeps her grounded with a hand on her hip, quelling the fear with kisses to her forehead, her neck, the base of her throat.

The snowfall outside deafens everything else, to the point that every touch is magnified, every murmur into her skin carries an added weight.

She can almost hear what he’s _really_ trying to tell her.

When they finally collapse into each other, spent, she falls asleep with her head on his chest, emotions still surging beneath her skin.

It’s so much _better_ , but it’s not enough. She needs to say it out loud.

* * *

Why does she keep _taking_ from him? And why does he keep letting her?

Maka’s ankle lets out another unwelcome twinge, and she sits up, adjusting her leg. She’s not sure whether it’s her chaotic emotions or her movement that makes him stir, but she turns to watch Soul wake up, heart in her throat.

If she doesn’t say something now, she thinks she might explode. So she taps into her courage, and allows herself to shatter one more time.

“Hey, Soul?” she says. Even though she’s whispering, her voice breaks. “What... do you want this to be?” 

There's a strange prickling at her eyes that bubbles up and overflows, and Soul is immediately sitting upright, sweeping a thumb across her cheek before the tear reaches her chin.

“Hey.” His hand is warm on her face. She raises her eyes to his, and the _gentleness_ she finds in his gaze stabs her square in the chest. He’s been ready for this conversation for weeks, and he doesn’t hesitate. “What do _you_ want it to be?”

“Asked you first,” she says wetly, and he lets out a chuckle.

He lets his hand drop back to the sheets, fiddling with the fabric. “Wanna be with you,” he says, with a little shrug, as if that explains everything.

Which - it kind of _does_ , if she thinks about it hard enough.

She steadies herself. “I’m... scared.”

It’s not an easy thing for her to admit, and he knows that. “...Of what?” he finally says, treading carefully.

“I don’t-- I can’t--” She huffs out a sigh, hands landing in her lap, but she promised herself that she would speak, and now, she must. “I just… don’t want to- _I can’t_ be like my Papa,” she grits out, avoiding his eyes. “He’s… he’s selfish,” she recites. “He’s needy, he takes advantage--”

“Is that…” Soul’s expression has morphed into something mutely horrified, though he tamps down on it, and when he speaks again, his voice is neutral. “Is that what you think you’re like? With me?”

Her features pinch as she tries not to cry again, her lower lip wobbling dangerously.

“Can I…” he asks, arms reaching up, and she nods, nuzzling into the crook of his shoulder as a few extra tears slip out and onto his skin.

“Maka,” he murmurs, reaching up to rub her back. “If there’s anyone on this planet who’s _less_ like your old man, it’s you.”

“That’s not _true_ ,” she says, shaking her head.

He takes a deep breath, considering. “Okay. Anyone else you’ve been sleeping with that I should know about?”

She scoffs, offended. “Obviously not, but--”

“Been hitting up the strip club on Wednesdays?”

She smacks lightly at his shoulder. “Not a chance.”

“Not planning to run off with anyone you’ve _met_ at this aforementioned strip club that you _don’t go to?_ ”

“Okay, again, _no_ \-- but... I’ve just been _taking_ from you,” she insists. “I haven’t said… I haven’t explained...”

Soul waits for a moment to see if she’ll continue. When she doesn’t, he pulls away from her, holding her gaze. “Everything we’ve done, I’ve wanted,” he says easily, like he knows she’s been worried about this. She can instantly feel the truth of his words, and something strange catches in her chest. “You have too, right?” he adds. “I would’ve felt it if you didn’t.”

“Oh, you would have _known_ if I didn’t,” she says, making her tone appropriately threatening, and he laughs again.

“Yeah, I figured.”

They’re silent for a minute, and that heavy weight in her chest begins to lift, a little.

“I don’t know how entrenched this whole thing is,” she says, twisting her fingers together. “It’s like… I can’t separate things, sometimes. Wanting to be with anyone, um--” She hates the way her face heats up. “Physically. It’s like… it comes with this _guilt_. It’s like wanting to be with you just inevitably means I’m going to leave you behind.”

He settles his hands on top of hers, and her fingers twist again, meeting his, and he lets a little smile slip onto his face. “You wanna be with me, huh?”

She wants to smack him again, to make light of this, but at the same time, she’s waist deep in this conversation and she needs to take the dive.

“Yeah,” she says. A worried crease appears between her brows as she looks up at him. “I do.”

“‘Kay,” he says, running a thumb across her knuckles. He brings one of her hands up to his lips, pressing gently. “We’ll take it a day at a time then, yeah? S’not like I’m going anywhere.”

The crease between her brows lessens, and she finally lets a soft smile take over her face. “Okay.”

Her smile is infectious, and they’re both grinning now. Soul squeezes her hands and lets go, scratching at his chin thoughtfully.

“Just let me know the deal with the physical stuff? Like, day to day?” A self-conscious hand rises to meet his neck. “You can totally take the lead on that, I’m obviously not expecting…”

“I mean. Yeah, that sounds good, in general.” A wave of heat rises into Maka’s cheeks, and she shifts uncomfortably. “But also. I don’t… mind it so much. When you take the lead.”

Soul’s expression clears in surprise, and then settles into something _taunting_. “...What?”

This cannot stand, she thinks as the flush crawls up to her ears. “ _Sometimes_ ,” she clarifies, poking at his chest with a finger. “In _general._ ”

“And what about right now?” he says, leering at her as he leans in to her finger, challenging her.

Maka looks him up and down, chewing on a smirk as she appraises him.

“Right now,” she says, pushing him back against the sheets with the finger that’s still on his chest. “ _I’ll_ be taking the lead.”

**Author's Note:**

> A friendly reminder that when one has a sprained ankle, one should probably not be taking superfluous walks in the snow, or having hot baths!
> 
> When the two of them return from their mission, this is something Kid lectures them about via long, rambling tirade. He concludes his harangue with “Were there any _other_ escapades you decided to engage in while injured that I need to know about?!”
> 
> 👀👀👀👀
> 
> “Nope,” Soul replies. ( _Not_ that he needs to know about.)
> 
> thanks for reading!! i hope u enjoyed! please drop me a line, would love to hear ur thoughts! :)


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